


curious

by mixians



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gore, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixians/pseuds/mixians
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in the world of fashion, everyone's fighting to keep up with the times. written for the chenpionships @ lj</p>
            </blockquote>





	curious

**Author's Note:**

> please please please do not read this fic if you are uncomfortable with any of the things i've warned for! thank you!

The lights of the runway are bright, too bright, and the music far too loud, as Sehun steps out from backstage, trying to keep his stride confident and steady even as his heart threatens to jump out of his chest. He’s done shows before, but never ones quite as big as this, and the room feels incredibly vast, incredibly empty. And when he takes a moment to glance to the left, he realizes: it _is_ empty. Sehun stops in his tracks. He can’t see far—the lights above him are blinding, and everything beyond what is usually the first two rows is darkness—but there are no people he can see, no photographers or designers or celebrities—no one.

“Hello?” Sehun calls. It echoes. The room is dead silent afterwards, and Sehun wonders what happened to the music.

Halfway down the runway are the steps to the floor, and he’s just stepped off them when the lights go out and the whole room turns pitch-black. “Hello?” Sehun says again, voice small, and this time there is no echo.

What he does hear now, though, is a voice. Or two voices, maybe, off in the distance, faint but still familiar. If Sehun squints, he can see a pinprick of light coming from the left of him, and he figures that chance of finding somebody he knows is better than standing all alone in the dark, so there he heads, tripping over his own feet as he goes.

The sounds get stranger as Sehun gets closer to the light, which he can now tell is seeping through the cracks of a door, and listening to the strangled noises coming from the door, he thinks maybe he’s walking into something he doesn’t want to see. He’s about to turn away, back into the dark, when the door swings wide open and Sehun gags, feeling bile rise up in his throat at the sight—it’s—

“Sehun!” Jongdae all but yells into his ear, and Sehun jerks out of the airplane seat, nearly smacking his head on the seat in front of him. “We’re here! New York City! Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

Sehun stretches, slowly pulling himself out of the seat at Jongdae’s impatient glare. He tries to inconspicuously wipe the drool that’s collected at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his carry-on down from the overhead compartment, but Jongdae notices anyways.

“You have the imprint of the armrest on your cheek, too,” he laughs, and Sehun feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He’s always making a fool of himself in front of Jongdae, isn’t he? Always.

There’s a driver waiting for them outside the baggage claim with a large “Jongdae” sign and an expensive-looking car, and they get through the heavy traffic with ease; they drive through Times Square on the way to the Lincoln Center and Sehun can’t help but marvel at the bright lights and billboards and crowds of people, even so late at night. It’s loud and so _alive_ , and nothing like home, and Sehun thinks he loves it.

“Way better than little old Blackwell, Oklahoma, isn’t it,” Jongdae murmurs from beside him.

“Way better,” Sehun breathes. “It’s amazing.” Part of him still can’t believe he’s here, that he’s going to be a part of _New York Fashion Week_ —he’s done shoots, even a few big fashion shows before, but definitely never something at this scale—not something someplace as big and busy as New York. And that it’s Jongdae he’s come here with, too—Jongdae the upperclassman that Sehun used to like in high school, Jongdae the now-world-famous-fashion-designer that Sehun maybe still kind of likes—but of course it would be him; it was Jongdae who’d gotten him started, and now it’s Jongdae who’s gotten him _here_. Sehun’ll repay him for it all someday. He’ll make sure of it.

They’re there before he knows it, before he’s ready, and even completely empty, the vast room manages to take Sehun’s breath away when they walk in. This is it, everything Sehun’s dreamed of, everything he’s worked for, in just one room; the runway, a little worn, a bit dusty, and seemingly endless, is exactly what Sehun’s always wanted so desperately to walk down, so far away that it seemed like just another figment of his imagination. But it’s real, it’s right here in front of him, and Sehun—Sehun can’t breathe. It’s _incredible_.

“The other models should be in the back room,” Jongdae says, and Sehun looks over to see him watching him with what looks like a hint of fondness. But it’s just another figment of Sehun’s imagination, of course, like everything else is. Sehun doesn’t dare to hope, not anymore, not after so many years of nothing. “I’ll show you the way.”

It’s a long night of last-minute changes, adjustments, and re-fittings, and as much as Sehun likes to be with Jongdae, he really just wants to go to Jongdae’s New York apartment and sleep. But come morning, no one’s gone home; Sehun feels like he might collapse any minute now, and another model, Jongin, is fast asleep curled up in the corner. Sehun wishes he could do the same, but Jongin is one of the few that Jongdae is done with—everyone else is still being shuffled around and frantically handed white articles of clothing Sehun’s never even seen before, even though he’s pretty sure Jongdae had just about everything planned before he’d even asked Sehun to be a part of his show. The theme had something to do with winter, but Sehun’s been too tired to even try to piece it together. The suit Jongdae has for him has a long tail and really fancy cuffs, and Sehun likes it, but Jongdae still isn’t satisfied with it by the time everyone else has been sent off.

“It’s not complete,” he frowns. “It’s not ready yet.” Sehun promises he’ll find time for one more fitting before the day of the show, and they finish just as the sun starts to peek over the horizon, just in time for Sehun to rush to the shoot he has scheduled for today, and for Jongdae to get some rest before he heads to whatever he has planned for the next few days.

It only takes a short taxi ride ( _damn_ , it’s expensive) for Sehun to arrive at the building he’s meant to be shooting a magazine spread at today, half-asleep but feeling otherwise good for someone who hasn’t slept all night. Not that he’s not used to that, by now.

Inside, there’s a table with plates of fruits and crackers, and Sehun takes a handful of grapes and a few crackers, just to keep his energy up, before heading upstairs. He tries not to eat too fast, but he still gets a disapproving look from the designer when he’s spotted.

“You’re not supposed to eat those,” she snaps, pushing the food out of his hands, onto the floor. “How much do you weigh? You don’t look as thin as your agency said you were.” She starts looking through some files, glancing critically between the papers and him, and adds, “I know you’re not from here, but I’m not going to make any exceptions for you. And I don’t know how things work over there, but here, models can’t be fat.”

The word stings. _Fat_. Sehun stands there, throat tight, feeling the shame rise up in him as the designer takes her phone out and calls his agent, eyes raking judgmentally over him all the while. He stares at his feet, and tries not to remember; no one’s called Sehun fat, not in a long, long time, not since middle school, really—Jongdae, even, is always telling Sehun to eat more. Which is why he’d invited Sehun out to eat the night before they’d left for New York.

“You’ve been looking a little worse for wear,” he’d said, casually, but his eyes were worried, and Sehun had been too ashamed to say _Sorry, but I don’t really eat anymore._ He’d felt sick afterwards, but with Jongdae’s ever-busy schedule, getting to see him was something of a rarity. One dinner couldn’t be too much to give, could it?

Now, as the designer argues with Sehun’s agent about possibly replacing him with someone _thinner_ , he’s not so sure. He swallows, trying not to listen, trying to remember something nice, something better—and Jongdae comes to mind. Jongdae when he was still just a family friend in his freshman year of high school, when Sehun was starting his first year of middle school, the year they’d met—and the year Sehun forgot what it was to be proud of who you are.

“Listen,” Jongdae had said, the second time they met, eyes determined but somehow so caring in the way that so few people seemed to be, “I know we don’t know each other. And I’m not usually serious like this. But this is serious. I can _see_ what you’re doing to yourself. Whatever they tell you, don’t let it get to you. They’re liars. And if you believe them, you’re only hurting yourself—so don’t give in. You’re perfect. To me, you’re perfect.”

And it’s stuck with him. Sort of. He’d been okay, for a while—but one word, and he’d been desperate to be perfect, to be the perfect person everyone expected him to be. He never told Jongdae about it, but Sehun thinks he knows. It probably wasn’t hard to tell, honestly; it’s fairly obvious what’s happening when someone loses weight as quickly as that, eating just enough to get by but far from _enough_. But even though Sehun hasn’t listened to him, not at all, it’s what he thinks of when things are hardest, when he can’t help but remember and try to fight the tears back.

The designer tosses her phone onto a table. It lands with a _clack_ , and Sehun startles. “We’ll have to make do with you for today. You’re not what I expected, but,” she sighs heavily, “I’ll have to make it work.”

At least that means he’s getting a paycheck this month. He’s doing fashion week for the exposure, and for Jongdae, and he’d insisted that it would be a favor to Jongdae, that he’d do it for free. That’s what friends are for, right? And at least he can get a few things done while he’s here; there aren’t all that many opportunities back in Oklahoma. But the shoot doesn’t go well, he knows. It doesn’t feel right, and as he leaves, he hears the designer mutter, “I knew we should’ve replaced him. Look at these pictures. He looks so—“

It hurts, it really does. And by the time he’s back at Jongdae’s apartment, unlocking the door with the spare key Jongdae gave him, the last thing he wants to do is talk about it, but Jongdae’s sitting at the kitchen table, mug of coffee in his hands, when Sehun walks in, and he looks up at Sehun, taking in his expression with a frown. “What happened?”

“Shoot didn’t go well,” Sehun mumbles, taking a seat across from him. Jongdae offers him the mug, holding it out to him, and Sehun waves it off easily. Jongdae frowns again.

“Did they—“

“No,” Sehun lies, voice hard. Jongdae sighs the way he always does, the way he does when he knows Sehun’s lying, and puts his free hand over Sehun’s.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and it’s enough.

Sehun gives him the closest thing to a smile he can muster, and they sit like that, for a moment. Then, he says, “I’ll. Go to the guest room, for now. I’ll try and get some rest.”

“You don’t have anything else scheduled?” Jongdae asks, looking up at him as Sehun, albeit reluctantly, pulls his hand away.

“The shoot was supposed to take all day,” Sehun shrugs, “but that didn’t exactly happen.”

Jongdae gives a quiet nod, and gestures to Sehun’s left. “Down that hall, third room on the right. Your bags should already be in there. I’ll be leaving in a minute for my photo shoot, but I’ll be back sometime tonight.”

“Thanks,” Sehun says; he doesn’t wish him good luck. Jongdae always knows exactly what he’s doing, always manages to make something incredible, no matter how daunting or difficult it might seem. Sometimes, he thinks, burying his face into his pillow, eyelids feeling heavy, Sehun wishes he could have even a fraction of the talent, the brilliance that Jongdae has in him. Sometimes, all the time, Sehun wonders when along the way he went wrong, when he stopped trying like Jongdae always told him to, when he became so utterly worthless, so undeserving of everything he has. Even if it isn’t much.

The sound of the front door closing echoes through the apartment, and then everything is silent but for the cars passing in the street below. Sehun curls up tighter underneath the blankets. It’s cold.

 

x

 

 

It’s dark outside when Sehun wakes, feeling like he hasn’t slept a wink. His watch says it’s 2 am, and Sehun can still hear the faint sound of car horns blaring outside. It’s refreshing, he thinks, to be somewhere so unlike home.

The rest of the apartment, however, is completely silent; Jongdae must not be home yet. _Might as well look around_ , Sehun supposes, so, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he pulls himself out of bed and steps out into the hallway. The darkness is almost ominous, and Sehun has never liked the dark, but he can’t seem to find the light switch, so the feeble light coming from an open window somewhere will have to do.

The first door next to his is the bathroom. He reaches in to turn the light switch on, but this one he can’t find either—he’s not sure if his eyes are deceiving him or if it’s just the darkness, but it’s still a little unnerving. The next room is a linen closet, similarly lacking a light switch. Sehun turns back to the other side of the hall, where it’s darkest; that’s Jongdae’s room. Maybe it’s not so nice to go into others’ bedrooms when they’re not home, but Sehun just wants to find a light source that isn’t the moon.

What hits him first when he opens the door is the trace of an odd scent coming from somewhere, and that isn’t normal, shouldn’t be—Jongdae’s careful to keep his room clean, so it’s not like there could be something _rotting_ somewhere. (And, Sehun thinks, there’s no way he’d ever smell like that either. Jongdae wears expensive cologne.) There’s no light switch here either, as far as he can see or feel, but he’s curious now; he takes a few more steps further into the room, trying to follow the smell. The smell gets stronger, and Sehun knows he’s getting closer.

It almost seems like it’s coming from whatever is behind the door across the room—the closet, he thinks it might be—and Sehun takes step after careful step closer to it, making sure not to step on or trip over anything that might be on the ground. The stench, now, is still faint, but at the same time so suffocating, and Sehun does his best not to breathe. His hand’s on the doorknob, and he’s turning it, slowly, and—

The lights flicker on, and Sehun hears the sound of footsteps, then Jongdae’s voice. “Sehun? Are you here?”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping away from the closet door. He’ll just ask—maybe there’s just leftover pizza or something in there from whenever Jongdae was last here. It’s not that hard to forget things. Even for Jongdae, as meticulous as he is.

“Why were you in my room?” Jongdae frowns a little, and Sehun feels kind of awful because this _was_ kind of an invasion of privacy, but he still wants to know.

“None of the lights were turning on,” he shrugs. “Maybe the power went out. Am I allowed to ask what’s in your closet?”

Jongdae’s eyes widen a little at that. “Did you look?”

“No,” Sehun says, feeling a little uncomfortable. If he’d known that Jongdae didn’t want it, he wouldn’t have, but. Curiosity killed the cat. “It just smelled a little funny is all.”

“Maybe I left something in there last time I was working,” Jongdae says. Then, he grins at Sehun almost conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s my new collection. I’ve been planning this for years, working on it between the clothing lines I release every season, but I think it’s almost done. I don’t know if you’ll like it,” he says, a bit uncertainly, “but I think it’s my best work yet.”

“I like everything you do,” Sehun says. “Of course I will.”

“Just as sweet as ever, Oh Sehun,” Jongdae smiles, patting him affectionately on the head. Sehun tries not to look back at him _too_ adoringly.

“Really,” Sehun says. “You’ll be great, like always. Funky fashion designer Kim Jongdae, always ready to take on the world.” He makes a wide, exaggerated gesture with his arms, and Jongdae laughs.

“You know it,” he grins, ruffling Sehun’s hair affectionately. Sehun’s heart skips a beat when he meets Jongdae’s gaze, despite himself—despite the fact that he _knows_ he’s just imagining it. “Want to go out and get something to eat? I know a place pretty close to here, if you’re hungry.”

“I ate earlier,” Sehun lies, and Jongdae gets that look on his face again, the same one he gets when he sighs the way he always does, “but I’ll come with you if you want?”

“Sure,” Jongdae says easily, but his eyes say he’s worried.

Sehun tries to swallow down his guilt and gives Jongdae a smile. “Let’s go.”

 

x

 

 

The place Jongdae takes him to is small, cozy, and just loud enough to allow for some privacy; it feels kind of like home, and Sehun can already see why Jongdae picked this place to go to. In the midst of the chaos of New York City, it's almost like a lull, a little pocket of peace.

“So,” Sehun asks, once they’re seated and Jongdae has ordered, “how was your shoot?”

Jongdae shrugs. “As well as always. One of the models kept complaining about how odd her dress looked, how she didn’t think it should even be considered fashion. It’s _avant-garde_. I think she just doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Or maybe it was just ugly," Sehun teases.

“Says the kid who always tells me he loves my work,” Jongdae says, kicking him under the table, but he’s smiling anyways.

“Can’t believe everything people say,” Sehun sniffs. “For all you know, they could just be trying to get into your pants.”

“Are you saying you want to get into my pants?” Jongdae grins, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Sehun sticks his tongue out at him. “You wish.”

“Excuse me,” Jongdae says, barely holding back his laughter. “I’m out of your league. _You_ wish you could get into my pants. And my clothes are brilliant. You just have no taste.”

“Your first clothing line was _hipster fashion_.”

“I thought you said you like everything I do!”

Sehun snickers. “I also said you can’t believe everything people say.”

Jongdae pouts exaggeratedly, putting one hand on his heart. “I’m hurt.”

“But at least you know I’ll always love you, right?” Sehun says, and he feels a bit silly for meaning it in more ways than one, but it’s too late to take it back now, isn’t it?

“Ah, Sehun,” Jongdae grins easily, “you really are the sweetest to me. It’s too bad you always decide to be mean to me first, too.”

The waiter comes back with Jongdae’s food, and Jongdae looks over at Sehun as the waiter leaves. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? The food here is really good. I speak from experience,” he says, smiling, but there’s that glimmer of concern in his eyes again, and Sehun can’t help but feel guilty when he refuses and Jongdae frowns, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and closes it again.

“Don’t worry, hyung,” Sehun says, even though he knows it probably won’t help one bit, “I’m fine. I’m really okay.”

Jongdae still looks at him with doubt, but he nods, if a little slowly. “Promise me you’ll have lunch with me before we leave for home. Promise me you’ll eat when I can _see_ it.”

Sehun swallows hard, stares down at the empty plate in front of him. “Of course, hyung. I promise.”

“Good,” Jongdae smiles. He looks relieved, or at least a little less worried than before, and finally takes a bite of his food. It’s a few minutes of silence before he pauses and looks back up at Sehun, face serious. “But there’s… something I’ve been meaning to warn you about.”

Sehun frowns. “What?”

“There’s this rumor about New York Fashion Week that’s been floating around these last few years—they say that after the last show, one model disappears, gone without a trace.” Jongdae’s voice is low, hushed, his tone almost furtive; Sehun’s never seen him like this, never. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I want you to be safe, no matter what. So as soon as the show is over, leave. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t changed yet—you can bring the clothes back to me later. Just leave as quickly as you can, okay? Don’t let anything keep you.”

“But didn’t you say it was just a story?” Sehun says. Jongdae’s never been one to believe things like this. “It’s can’t be that big of a deal.”

“I’m just—“ Jongdae says haltingly, “I’m just taking precautions, you know? I want to make sure you make it home in one piece. You’re one of my closest friends, so of course… Of course I’d be worried.”

Something about all of this, not just Jongdae’s story, feels a little unsettling. Odd. But Sehun just can’t place it. “Okay,” he tells Jongdae, “I will. I’ll leave right after the show ends, just to be safe.”

Jongdae smiles, looking relieved again. “Good. I just want to make sure that you’ll be okay, you know?”

Sehun knows. And something about this is still bugging him, but that’s what he’d felt like when he was about to go into Jongdae’s closet, too, and that hadn’t turned out to be anything important. So maybe it’s not such a big deal. He’s just being paranoid for no reason again, isn’t he? It’s probably wise to listen to what Jongdae tells him, anyways; he’s the new one here. He’s still getting to know his way around.

Besides, he thinks, curiosity killed the cat. Didn’t it?

 

x

 

 

Sehun doesn’t have much of a chance to see Jongdae for the next few days—his agent has had his schedule packed full of small-scale magazine shoots and appearances at events for a few more prominent brands, so he’s been busier than ever. It’s a good kind of busy, though. Keeps his mind off of things. In the brief stretches of time when he and Jongdae are home at the same time, he’s usually asleep; a few times, he wakes up with extra blankets wrapped around him and a bowl of soup nearby. He pours the soup down the drain as he leaves and tries not to feel too guilty about it. The designers he works with after that first day don’t say anything more than “This one’s good” after giving him an appraising look and nodding; one even gives him a smile. It’s the best things have ever gone, but somehow, it feels like Sehun’s never been unhappier.

Tonight’s his final fitting with Jongdae, the last thing he’ll be doing apart from walking at Fashion Week. It’s just him and Jongdae tonight, because Jongdae’s finally finished his outfit; Jongdae says it’ll be the most elaborate of them all—“You’ll be the grand finale,” he’d said on the plane ride here, “the star of the show. I want everyone to remember you.”

Jongdae’s eating in the kitchen when he gets back from his last shoot. “Hey,” he says. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“It’s okay, I grabbed something to eat on my way back,” Sehun lies.

“You sure?” Jongdae asks, and there’s that look on his face again, but when Sehun nods he just gives him a long look and sighs. “Come to the back room, then.”

Down the hall, next to Jongdae’s room, there’s one last room Sehun’s never been in. It’s the biggest room in the apartment, filled with beaten-up mannequins and half-finished garments, the Fashion Week collection on a rack across the room.

"This one's yours," Jongdae says, pointing to a mannequin nearby. "What do you think?"

It’s completely different from what Jongdae had designed for him before: this one is a high-collared white suit, the jacket intricately creased and folded all down the front, silver-blue lace along the edges. Long swathes of tulle are sewn onto the sides and around the back, winding around the body and meeting at the bottom of the jacket. The pants are plain white, and on top of the mannequin sits a little silver crown.

“It’s—“ Sehun starts, but he’s at a loss for words. “Stunning, hyung,” he says finally, “it’s stunning.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Jongdae says, beaming as he carefully takes the clothes off the mannequin. “It was made just for you.”

Jongdae helps him into it, setting the little crown on top of his head and making sure none of the tulle gets bent the wrong way or tangled up as Sehun puts his arms through the sleeves, and then steps back.

“I don’t know if I even have to make any adjustments,” Jongdae says, eyes wide. He pulls a full-length mirror over from a corner of the room and sets it down in front of where Sehun stands.

And again, he’s speechless. It really does look like it was made for him, somehow; the suit emphasizes the slope of his shoulders, makes his legs look impossibly long, and Sehun can’t stop looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looks so… regal? Princely? And that sort of reminds him of— _oh_.

Jongdae used to tell him stories back when Sehun was in his second year of middle school, whenever Sehun was feeling down. They’d all be silly, and impossibly wild, but it was enough to take Sehun away from reality, and he’d get lost in all the worlds Jongdae could think up. But there was one that always had been his favorite, and even though he’d gotten Jongdae to tell it to him again time after time, somehow he hadn’t expected Jongdae to remember.

“Once upon a time, there was a prince named Oh Sehun,” Jongdae had said, the first time he told it. It was almost Christmas, and Sehun was curled up under the covers beside him, trying to keep warm. “He was the prince of a kingdom made of ice, and it was really big. Bigger than Canada, even. And all of the subjects loved him a lot, because he was their cute little—“

“This story isn’t even going anywhere,” Sehun whined, giving Jongdae a little kick.

“I’m getting there! Sehun had the power to control snow and ice and one day, the spirit of one of his ancestors swooped down from above and gave him a quest to defeat a dragon hiding in a cave far away. Only then could he one day become king of the land! So Sehun set out the very next day…”

It was an almost endlessly long tale, full of unbelievable plot twists and characters pulled straight out of Disney movies, but Sehun wouldn’t let Jongdae stop until Jongdae’s mother called and said it was time to go home. And even though it’s been a long time since the last time he asked Jongdae to tell it to him, it’s still one of his fondest memories. Sehun doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it.

Sehun looks over at Jongdae after a moment, mouth opening to ask all the questions swimming around in his head, but nothing comes out. Jongdae just smiles.

“You were my inspiration,” he says simply. “Ice Prince Oh Sehun. I still don’t think I’ve done it justice, though.”

“I don’t know,” Sehun breathes, “it seems pretty perfect to me.”

“Thanks,” Jongdae says, beaming. “Does it fit okay?”

“Like a glove,” Sehun tells him. Jongdae looks satisfied as he helps Sehun out of the suit, or at least more than he usually is with what he designs. It’s reassuring.

“Are you excited for the show tomorrow?” Jongdae asks as they finally leave the room.

“Kind of nervous, actually,” Sehun says, and now that he thinks about it, he really is. He’s the kind of nervous he always feels when he knows something really important is about to happen. The kind that makes his stomach churn even when he won’t be doing anything for hours, that fills his mind with all the ways it could possibly go wrong until he’s tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning and the makeup artists have even darker circles to cover up than usual.

“I am, too,” Jongdae admits. Sehun can’t remember the last time Jongdae seemed nervous about anything, not even before his first showcase straight out of college. Jongdae’s always had this contagious, effervescent aura of confidence about him, somehow. He’s always been the one to reassure Sehun, always telling him just the right words to make him feel better, and it’s—weird, almost. Sehun looks over at him, surprised. “What? Fashion week. It’s a big deal. And,” he adds, smiling a little bit down at the floor, “this collection is special to me. I want people to like it.”

Sehun stops in the doorway of his bedroom, one hand on the doorknob when he turns around to say, “I know they will.”

“Always so full of flattery, Oh Sehun,” Jongdae grins. Sehun thinks he can see the cracks in his confidence in it.

“I really mean it,” Sehun insists, stepping into the room and starting to pull the door shut behind him. “It’s gonna be great.”

Even so, when Sehun’s stuck staring up at the ceiling in the middle of the night, all he can think about is the way Jongdae, for once, doesn’t seem so sure.

 

x

 

 

Backstage at Fashion Week is pure chaos. By the time Sehun arrives, just before noon, the whole tent is buzzing with activity—models from the show before his are hurrying to change or find the right article of clothing from the rack, people with headsets are trying to make sure that everyone is in the right place, and it’s so busy that it takes Sehun a minute to spot Jongdae on the other end of the tent with the makeup artists.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Jongdae says when Sehun’s made his way there, quickly waving another makeup artist over. “This one’s only walking once. I’ll tell you what I have in mind…”

Sehun spends the next two hours being painted white and ice blue. The paint is spread around his eyes and artfully down his neck, fading more and more the lower it goes. Flecks of silver peek out of the collar of his suit and twist around his neck, all the way up to his jaw. His hair is spray-painted white with hairspray, and his eyebrows and even his eyelashes are turned white by face paint and mascara. And when Jongdae’s finally satisfied, after what feels like hours of debate about whether his hair needs to be up or not, or if he needs more makeup, the little crown from before is finally set on top of his head.

Jongdae comes over from his spot by the exit when it’s almost time for him to go on, holding him out at arm’s length and grinning. “You look like a true prince.”

“It was all you,” Sehun tells him sincerely. And even though he’s wearing makeup and he’s so nervous he feels like he might throw up at any moment, he _really_ wants to kiss Jongdae right now, and he might just—

“You’re next!” Jongdae says, shoving him towards the exit. “As soon as Jongin’s back, you go.”

Sehun nods and tries to clear his head. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about kissing Jongdae, anyways. This isn’t the time or place for that.

Jongin comes back down the runway moments later, glancing over as if to say _good luck_ , and Sehun takes a deep breath.

The lights of the runway are bright, too bright, and the music far too loud, as Sehun comes out from backstage, trying to keep his stride confident and steady even as his heart threatens to jump out of his chest. He’s never done a show this big before, but this feels familiar, somehow. He’s almost at the end of the catwalk now. _Look cold, look ahead, don’t blink._ Once he’s made it to the end and backstage again, they all go out one more time, single-file. It’s hard to keep a straight face when the audience erupts into applause, but Sehun manages.

“You did great,” Jongdae tells him after, just about glowing with pride. “Everyone loved it. _You._ ”

Sehun grins and shakes his head. “Like I said, it was all you. You were the one behind it all.”

“Either way,” Jongdae says. “Thank you. And you remember what I told you, right?”

“Go home as soon as the show’s over,” Sehun nods. “On it.”

“I’ll be back later to try and help you get the makeup off,” Jongdae promises, and then he’s off into the thick crowd of people milling around backstage.

He’s about to head out the back when he pauses for a moment. What if he stays? Would it be so bad to try and find out if the rumors are true? He always will wonder if he doesn’t.

 _Curiosity killed the cat,_ singsongs a voice in his head, but Sehun ignores it. What’s the harm?

 

x

 

 

Sehun gets someone to wash the white out of his hair and most of the white paint off of his face, but Jongdae’s got his clothes, so he’ll have to wait until he gets home to change again. He watches the last show before heading back to the same building Jongdae’s show was in. Just to see.

Without anyone in it, the room feels incredibly vast, incredibly empty. It’s dead silent but for the echoes of his footsteps. Sehun finds himself drawn to a room in a wing on his left; light shines through the window, the only light in the dim hallway.

The door’s been left slightly ajar, he sees once he’s gotten closer, and now he can hear a voice—two voices?—coming from it. Someone is saying something, but it sounds oddly strangled, and the sounds only get stranger as Sehun gets closer. This all feels a little bit like déjà vu, somehow. And there’s that smell again, interestingly enough, the same one coming from the back of that closet. Sehun’s starting to regret this decision a little, but he can’t bring himself to turn back now. Slowly, quietly, he approaches the door and tries to peek through the crack.

Sehun doesn’t stifle his gasp fast enough. Jongdae whirls around and Sehun stumbles a little, pushing the door even further open as he does, and tries not to throw up when he sees it all, turning himself away from the scene as quickly as he can.

Jongdae curses. “Sehun, what are you _doing_ here, I warned you, I thought you went home—“

Sehun’s mind is racing. He’s hallucinating, isn’t he? He must be. He’s going crazy. This isn’t happening, Jongdae’s not—

“I can explain,” Jongdae is saying, but Sehun can’t think clearly enough to say anything back. He can’t tear his eyes away from the blood— _Jongin’s_ blood, oh, god—smeared all over Jongdae’s skin. “It’s the collection I’ve been working on. I’ve wanted to do this since high school, Sehun. The perfect collection, made out of just the right people. It’s going to be amazing, I know it, I just need to finish.”

“Y-you’re sick,” Sehun chokes out. “I thought I knew you.”

“You _do_ know me, Sehun,” Jongdae says, eyes frantic. But there’s a knife. Jongdae has a _knife_ in his hand. “I’ve been the same all along. Please, just—keep it a secret, okay?”

“Jongdae, I—“ Sehun starts, and then glances back at the knife clutched tightly in Jongdae’s hand, looks up to see the doubt flickering in Jongdae’s eyes. It’s now or never, isn’t it? “I like you— _love_ you, I’ll admit it—but I don’t think I’d ever be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell someone. You know that.”

Jongdae sighs and slumps a little, and Sehun stares at the knife now dangling loosely from his hand. He could do something right now, but—could he, really?

“Why do you think I never told you, Sehun?” Jongdae says. He looks a little less panicked now, more… sad. “Why do you think I’ve kept it from you for so long? I’ve always known. And I’ve always wanted to do something about it, but I just couldn’t let you get so close.”

“I don’t understand,” Sehun says numbly, stepping back. This is too much, this is happening too fast. Jongdae takes a step forward.

“I’ve loved you for a really long time,” Jongdae tells him, leaning in close. “But I’m sorry you had to find out like this.”

 _Like what?_ Sehun wants to ask, but then Jongdae’s kissing him—so softly, too softly—and Sehun tries not to choke. He tastes like blood.

Sehun’s reaching up to push Jongdae away when the knife plunges into his chest. He barely feels it at first, just gasps at the impact and tries to figure out what it is that’s wrong; he only realizes what’s happened when he sees the dark red rapidly spreading, staining the white fabric of his suit. “You—“

“I’m so sorry,” Jongdae says. His eyes are glassy. “I really am. I never meant for any of this to happen, but I can’t let you do this.” And this, this isn’t the Jongdae Sehun’s known for ages. He’s colder, more withdrawn, so… not himself. “I hope you’ll understand.”

Jongdae picks him up and starts to carry him into the room. The lights are bright, too bright, and Sehun is gasping for breath as the first wave of pain really hits. Jongdae sets him down on the table, and he almost passes out.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says again, and Sehun can see the sincerity in his eyes, but then Jongdae pulls the knife out and everything goes black.

 

Curiosity did kill the cat, after all.  


**Author's Note:**

> some notes!
> 
> \- this was posted the same week as new york fashion week :3 feb 6-13!  
> \- some references i used for sehun's makeup/outfit: [1](http://scorpionentity.deviantart.com/art/Queen-of-Ice-Collage-155605730), [2](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_nFGb1744yk), [3](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/56928382763135971/)  
> \- also my super cool friend [may](http://www.twitter.com/lttlesheep) drew me a [ref](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Bgjv1CaCMAA8g6q.jpg:large) for sehun's outfit!!!
> 
> thanks for reading~


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